Brother

I came alone,
a harbinger of nothingness.
I was given a name, a language.
I was given a train of thought
(and I ran away with it).

I was once a single cell
in my mother’s womb
or was it the womb
of the earth?
I lay awaiting
division and birth.

I was once multicellular.
My mothers fed me
and watched me
strive and connive
for shape and symmetry.

My mothers told me
I’ve grown limbs
and I’ll soon learn
how to hunt and gather,
how to rub two stones together
to light a fire and cook
and keep myself warm.

They told me to try
to not burn each other.

While I write this,
my brother from my other mother
swims beneath the serene ocean
in kind, quiet contemplation
in his blue whale of a body.

While I write this letter,
this mad poem concocted
in the devil’s stew of evolution,
my big, friendly giant of a brother
comes out to the surface
of the moonlit ocean.

Alright, I’ll see you then.
I’ve got to go and feed him
some polythene.